In Times of Ingenuity
by unknown men
Summary: Jasper is the writer with ink-stained fingertips, who finds himself in everything. Alice is the voracious lover, who finds herself in nothing. Edward is the meek outsider, who is also the core, wishing to protect. OOC/AH


One shot, based off the song Japanese Gum, by Her Space Holiday.

A x J pairing; Edward POV

Jasper is the writer with ink-stained fingertips, who finds himself in everything.

Alice is the voracious lover, who finds herself in nothing.

Edward is the meek outsider, who is also the core, wishing to protect.

* * *

"_I appreciate your help,  
But even you can't save me from myself."_

EDWARD POV:  
**THE GIRL**

"It's not like I'm a slut, or that I really like to fuck; I just want every boy I see, to walk away with part of me," her voice is quiet, reserved. Silently begging me to explain, her face is an open book. I am sucked in, feeling pity, sympathy, and wanting to help. _Hopeful_ to help.

"Please, you don't have to. You, you're depressed, a sex addict, there are-"I am cut off by a hand that softly touches my lips. And I kiss the fingertips, silently conveying this wish I have to help.

"I appreciate your help," and I've heard it a thousand times, and I silently finish the sentence as I watch her retreating back.

_But even you can't save me from myself._

~  
"My name is Alice, Alice Brandon," she is sloshed, and I have just met her. She is beautiful, and tiny. She is as perfect as my sister's porcelain doll collection.

"I am Edward Cullen," and I capture her hand in mine, and I kiss her knuckles. A light brush and she sighs. Her sigh is the sound of the retreating ocean.

"Will you talk with me?" She is quiet, losing her confidence from before, and I am quickly gaining headway to learning this beautiful girl.

"I will talk with you, as long as you'll let me," I whisper, and I am kissing her knuckles again. The smooth creases between her fingertips are almost lickable. Every part of her is beautiful and delicious looking.

"What are your hobbies?" Her voice is seemingly interested, but there is a dim light in her eyes. She is going through a practiced speech.

"I go to cemeteries, and I lay flowers for every deceased," I state quietly, wanting to tell her the truth.

"Even in the rain?" She asks, and her eyes are brighter; a smile tugs at her lips.

"Even in the rain," I whisper to her, acting as if it's almost a crime. The party's noise dims down to a clatter, I barely hear it. I suddenly realize that I may love this girl, and I've just met her.

~  
James Brodair walks from Alice's room, and he is grinning, and it is a sick grin. I look at him, and I do not say a thing. I just walk right past, and into her room.

She is under her bed.

"Why won't you let me help you? I can help you,Alice, _Alice," _her hands are over her ears; she is crying silently. Or maybe she is pretending.

In all of the months that I've known her, I have not really gotten to know her. I am watching her from sidelines, I watch her drive her car over a cliff, and climb back up, only to drive another car off the same cliff.

She is repeating herself, and she hasn't told me why. She has slept with them all, she has rebuffed me, rejected me. I want her to love me, to kiss me. I want to love her, to kiss her.

I want to hold little Alice in my arms, and I want to smooth her hair and I kiss her forehead, and I want to kill the spiders she is afraid of, and I want to make everything better. I want to be what she cannot be for herself.

"I appreciate your help, but even you can't save me from myself," she whispers, her eyes are a misty grey-blue today. She turns and sprints away, and I do not follow her. I have learned, now.

"What are your hobbies?" I ask, and she fascinates me. She takes the hem of her t-shirt, and starts to pull at a thin thread. I watch as she slowly tears apart the bottom of her t-shirt.

"I like to sing," her voice is hushed, and then I realize that she has just sung to me. I smile, and I put my fingertip on her chin. I pull her forward for a kiss.

She pulls away.

There is a crumpled sheet of paper on her floor, and I am wondering why it is there. Alice is normally careful where to throw her garbage. I pick up the sheet, and save it for later.

~  
"Alice was a beautiful girl, she was loved by many, and she was…she was," her mother cuts off, sobbing into a handkerchief her husband has quietly handed her.

Her husband's face is stoic, he is trying not to cry, I realize.

"Alice was my daughter! She was seventeen! She was, she was made for something, something," she is sobbing again; her tears are captured by the white handkerchief. Only later, do I realize that is the handkerchief that I saw Alice sew the day before.

"She was made for something more," her mother is done talking, and has subdued to looking at the messy little towel in her hands, and then she is sobbing. It is a pattern: look, sob, look, sob, look, snot and sob.

~  
"I remember the second day I knew Alice," I wring my hands together, "We had just met the day before, and I was apprehensive as to whether she would remember meeting me, and would be nice. I was expecting her to rebuff me, or for her to calmly accept that I was her friend. She did neither."

~  
"Edward!" Her cry is loud, and she is happy, as happy as the sun is when the moon comes up. Her eyes are the brightest I've seen them.

"Alice?" I am quiet, and I am scared.

"Did you think you could get rid of me so quickly? No, silly! We're best friends now, I can feel it," and she moves my hand beneath hers, to touch her heart. She has an irregular heartbeat.

Everyone smiles at my story, I knew her best, they think. In fact, I did not know her at all. I may have known her favorite color, her favorite ice cream flavor, the way her beauty captured others in rare moments; I may have known her, but I did not _know_ her.

A tall blond man is sitting in the back, and I recognize him from school. I am quickly flashed with anger, how dare a fuck-buddy come to her funeral! And then I realize: he is my biology partner.

* * *

"_It's not like I am weak,  
Or that I don't know how to leave,  
It's just that every time you cheat,  
You bring me closer to defeat."_

**THE BOY**

My new biology partner is quiet. He is neither oppressive, nor intrusive. He is just there, and that is why I like him. He always scribbles in a black notebook, the size of both my hands, side by side. Whenever I try to sneak a peek, he rips the page out, and crumples it.

It confuses me.

He scribbles every day, and I have a feeling that he is good at what he writes. That he is amazingly talented, and I immediately think that a boy like him would be able to get across to Alice.

Before he comes to class, I slip a sheet of paper onto his seat, and leave.

I am skipping today.

~  
"Jasper, Jasper Whitlock, sir," I hear a stammer, the voice is deep. He is my biology partner.

"What are you doing, walking around so late?" The voice is harsh, it bites like wind.

"Nothing, sir. Nothing at all," he stammers some more. I sigh, inaudibly, and I feel sorry for the poor boy.

"I smell weed, you ain't doin' dope, are ya?" The voice is a whip, and it cuts my back; I can feel the anger from my spot on the tree.

"No! No! I-I wouldn't dare," a few more words are exchanged, and I hear a quick scurry of footsteps. He has run away.

I smoke the rest of my joint, and walk home.

I hear laughter; I hear the clatter of metal hitting a plate. My parents are with my sister, celebrating her 5th grade "graduation"; they exude a happiness that only my sister can produce. They love her.

~  
"Jasper, read aloud to the class, please," I have switched into a new English class, and I am mesmerized when I hear his poem.

"Caresses unfit,  
I am left bereft.

I wish I could be,  
The star in your dream."

"Jasper?" Her voice is hushed; I shouldn't be listening in on this phone call.

"Alice?" his voice is barely contained excitement, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Anger swells up inside me.

"I love you," she whispers, and my heart drops into my knees.

"I'll love you until the sun stops shining," he whispers back, and I am ready to hang up, but not before I hear a sob. His voice is quiet, restrained, and it seems to accept a horrible fate. "How many?"

"More than five," she cries, and she is crying. It's the loudest and longest I've heard her cry. Jasper doesn't say anything; he doesn't say anything at all.

"Alice Brandon was my girlfriend," he whispers, standing in the front. My hands are in my lap, my fingertips are touching. I notice that his are black, as if he dipped them in tar before coming. Some people audibly gasp, other have shocked looks. Alice's parents nod him on.

"Alice Brandon was the girl that did it all, and she was the girl that held my world. She shook my globe until it snowed, and she shook it again, to make it snow for longer," and his head is dipped, and I see a tear leave his eye. I almost cry myself.

"Edward?" Jasper touches my shoulder, and shrinks away when I look back at him.

"Yes?" I ask, and I do not want to seem as if I am waiting for him to reply, so when he takes too long to ask or whatever, I begin to turn away. I am stopped by a surprisingly strong arm.

"Alice Brandon is depressed," he blurs his sentence together, but I do not need to comprehend it. It came out in slow motion, and I am ready for it, I am ready for him. I am ready to protect.

"No she's not," I heatedly state, leaving no room for opposition. What Jasper does next, surprises me.

"' _It's not like I'm a slut  
Or that I really like to fuck  
I just want every boy I see  
To walk away with part of me  
Until there's nothing left to hold  
Until there's nothing left to hate  
I appreciate your help  
But even you can't save me from myself,'"_ and then he walks away.

I am left behind, gaping like a fish.

"I asked Alice to marry me one day, she said no," this exudes quiet titters from some of the people. Others look somber, I look livid. I cannot stop myself when I get up and stomp away from the room. I want to get this over with.

"Jasper Whitlock was a man of few spoken words, but a man of many written words," I say, my voice is even quieter than when I had talked about Alice. I am miserable. It's only been a month.

"Jasper Whitlock showed me things that I did not want to see, he showed me myself, he showed me Alice Brandon," and I start to tear up. I am a wuss. "He was a quiet boy; he was a strong one too. He tried to fix what couldn't have been fixed, and he surrendered in the end," and then everyone nods. I am speaking the truth.

I am being freed.

* * *

**THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

"Do you ever feel sadness?" Alice asks, an hour after I have kissed her knuckles, months before her death. I nod; I have felt sadness, but nothing extreme. Why elaborate? "Have you ever felt sadness…here?" Alice points to her general area, pointing a finger towards her, and circling it around her whole being.

"No," I state quietly, because I have not.

"Then you cannot help me," she states, equally as quiet. As she walks away, I rear back, as if I was struck in the face.

In the privacy of my room, I open the note that I had taken from Alice's room, just three months ago. And I finally read it.

_"It's not like I am weak_  
_Or that I don't know how to leave_  
_It's just that every time you cheat_  
_You bring me closer to defeat_

_Until there's nothing left to love_  
_Until there's nothing left to say_  
_I know that you need help_  
_But even I can't save you from yourself."_**For this fic, I listened to a lot of M83, Explosions in the Sky and Her Space Holiday. I went for angst, and may have fallen short.**


End file.
